Innocence
by fandomsunleashed
Summary: The thought of anyone hurting the young poet caused Courfeyrac's head to hurt. He was just a little, innocent boy, who was struggling with so much. Jehan/Courfeyrac; Enjolras/Eponine
1. Musian High

**I am determined to complete this fanfic. Feel free to leave suggestions.**

**Oh, and if you do not ship Jehan/Courfeyrac, that might be a problem. Maybe I can force the ship upon you, or maybe your already ship it. Either one, welcome to the ship.**

**DISCLAIMER: Even though it's a dream of mine, I do not own Les Miserables or any of the characters. That right is reserved for Victor Hugo only, I'm afraid. Though, I do own the bullies. I could never have a Les Amis bully poor-well, you'll see who's bullied**

Jean 'Jehan' Prouvaire had always known he was 'different'-to say the least. He dressed in his awkward fashion, and an insane love of awful floral prints, braided his hair and adorned it with flowers and wrote love poems. He had been home-schooled for a majority of his life, his social skills have being below average. He was a sweet, lovely boy; except he was a target. A tragic life story, mixed with a group of egocentric jocks, wasn't the most popular. But, his foster mother decided he should get some friends and enrolled him into Musian Highschool.

Now, the petite poete didn't get the term 'get some friends'. Should he go to the nearest Costco and purchase them? Steal them from their families and lock them in his basement? Of course, he new what the phrase meant, but his mind was always questioning the obvious. He was a adorable, fascinating creature that the Earth was blessed with, and a small group of boys appreciated that.

Though, the boy who slammed him into the blue lockers on the first day of school didn't so much. His name was Pierson Jones, captain of the football team, and his breath smelled like mint tic-tacs and toothpaste. Prouvaire was blinded by the white teeth, except his shoulder hurt and the floral-printed backpack dug into his arm, so he was more focused on the uncomfortable feeling.

Jones slammed him into the lockers once more, and this time Jehan's head took the brunt of it. His red lips opened as he let out a cry of pain, his wide blue eyes squeezed shut.

A tall, handsome black-haired boy heard the cry and wiped around. He took one look at the beautiful poet and one at Pierson Jones and shoved Jones away. Jean Prouvaire opened his eyes tentatively to see his savior, and the air rushed out of his lungs. The boy was gorgeous, even as he was beating a helpless red-haired boy to the ground. The poet gently pulled the black-haired boy off of Jones.

"Thank you," Prouvaire whispered, holding out his hand. The black-haired boy grinned and shook it.

"I'm Courfeyrac, and you must be new!" he said. Jehan smiled.

"I'm Jean Prouvaire," he said, gripped the other's hand and shaking it.

"Would you like to sit with my friends at lunch today, Prouvaire?" Courfeyrac said, as amiable as ever. Jehan nodded his head and adjusted his backpack on his back.

"I'm going to go to class now,"he whispers, hurrying away.

_No! Wait, stop! Don't leave! I want to love you! _

The thoughts were echoing around Courfeyrac's head as the poet scurried towards homeroom. The caramel braid bounced against his back as he walked, and it took all of his might not to punch the people who were pointing and laughing at it into the next century. It was too beautiful to be mocked at.

Jean Prouvaire was too beautiful to speak of, and the thoughts of people trying to hurt him caused Courfeyrac's head to hurt.

**This was a reallllllllly short chapter, and a crappy start. It'll get better though, don't worry. I have big plans for this story, so stay tuned for the next chapter! make sure to review (if you can xD).**


	2. Les Amis

**Well, no reviews. Eh, I'm continuing anyway, I have hope for this story and a plan. I like to fulfill my plans, even if people don't care about them. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter of Innocence.**

**DISCLAIMER: Again, Victor Hugo holds the right alone for Les Miserables and all of the characters, not me. I do own Pierson Jones and a few more characters.**

Lunch rang through Jehan's mind. From the constant whispering and teasing, the beautiful poet blinked his wide blue eyes, trying to hold back the tears. More than once he thought of cutting his braid off. His battered poetry book was constantly clutched in his hand, a pen tucked behind his ear. The poems were still light and youthful, but they had a dark side as well. One had a troubled line, and another ended with one end of the OTP dying. He was scared.

But the thought of sitting with Courfeyrac and his friends at lunch kept him going. He held on so he could make friends, and tell his foster mom he did so.

When the bell for lunch finally rang, Jehan sprang from his seat in Science and ran out the door. Elbowing people outside, he navigated a path to the cafeteria. The smell of pizza and hot dogs overwhelmed his nose as he waited in the line, a few dollars in his hand. His poetry book stayed in his right.

"Oh look, it's Little Miss Flowers,"a rough voice taunted. Jehan felt a hand tug on his braid, yanking his head back. Pierson Jones breath still smelled like mint tic-tacs and toothpaste.

"Why, hello again,"the poet chirped. The old jocks face contorted into a less handsome one in his confusion. Jehan managed to wriggle out of his grip and advance in the line.

His state of momentary bliss was short lasting as a fist connecting with his back.

"No one ignore me, got that?" Jones voice seethed, full of anger at the beautiful boy. Jehan nodded, his confident demeanor replaced with a meek one.

"Leave him alone, Pierson," a calm voice called. Jehan turned his head to see a boy with rectangular glasses perched on his nose and cropped brown hair standing a few feet away. A sweater was layered over his white collared shirt, and tan slacks hang from his waist. His skinny arms were folded over his chest, a backpack slung evenly over both of his shoulders.

"Oh look, it's the Nerd. Where are your friends?" Pierson said, letting go of the struggling poet and swaggering over to the 'Nerd'.

"My name is Combeferre, and my friends are at our usual table. They do not need to get involved in this. I don't need to take Bahorel to the principal office again for beating the living daylights out of you," Combeferre replied, his voice as even as it always was. Pierson Jones sighed and walked away, his nose still turned into the air. The boy, Combeferre, held out his hand.

"Courfeyrac has told me about you,"he said,"I'll show you to the table,"

The 'table' was filled with about ten boys, all looking exceptionally different from each other.

A blonde boy was sitting at the front, his hands crossed in front of him. He wore a bright red jacket over a white t-shirt and jeans. Black Doc Martens covered his feet, and a few history textbooks were stacked neatly beside him. The chair next to him was empty, and a brown paper bag was in front of the seat. Courfeyrac, the black-haired boy, was sitting on the blonde's left, engrossed in something on his phone. A burly looking boy-who was surprisingly bald- and a frail one sat side by side on Courfeyrac's left. A boy, about Jehan's size, was applying hand sanitizer nervously, a pack of tissues next to his lunch. He was dressed in a crisp jacket and jeans. A hung-over boy, a beanie plopped over his unruly black curls, was playing with his paint-splattered jeans. And lastly, a geeky looking boy who looked like he was on a different planet was studying something in his math textbook. They were an odd bunch, alright, and Jehan was confident that he would fit in at this lunch table.

Combeferre cleared his throat,"This is. . ."

"Jean Prouvaire, but you can call me Jehan,"the poet said, his voice softer than he expected. Courfeyrac glanced up, grinned, and pulled over a chair next to him.

"Sit here,"he instructed, and Jehan obliged. Combeferre took the seat on the blonde's left.

"I'm Enjolras,"the blonde said, straightening his posture a bit. The rest followed:

"Joly"

"Grantaire"

"Joly!"

"Bahorel"

"Feuilly"

"Marius Pontmercy"

"You know me, Combeferre,"

"And I'm the great and powerful Courfeyrac!"

Odd names too, French. And Prouvaire was French, so he figured he would fit in as well. The small group started to make conversation easily, and all was well until they heard a feminine scream.

Enjolras immediately shot up. A girl, who was pretty as well, with hair is messy brown curls and curious cocoa eyes was holding her cheek. Her clothes looked old and worn, a red and black flannel shirt and torn jeans. Her converse were beat up, ripped on the side. Tears were flooding her eyes, and when Jehan looked at her neck, he saw a purple bruise. Shaped like a hand.

Jehan knew all about abuse, but he only suffered through it for four months. The bruise was fairly new, and Jehan knew the person who caused it was trying to choke her. Enjolras stumbled forward.

"Eponine!"

A boy was standing by the girl, Eponine was her name, wearing a brown newsboy cap and a graphic t-shirt. His hand was slightly raised.

"Montparnasse, please!" Eponine begged, clutching her face in her hands,"I know my lesson,"

"She doesn't have to learn a lesson, you do Montparnasse!" Enjolras seethed, marching up to the abuser. Montparnasse let out a crude laugh.

"She most certainly does, _monsiuer! _No one talks back to me, not even this missy,"the brown-haired man growled, gripping Eponine's arm. Enjolras tore him off of her.

"I think he likes her,"Courfeyrac sang. Jehan pulled a small smile before returning to his lunch.

**And. . .that's a wrap! Stay tuned for more, Innocence!**


	3. Scars

**Gonna keep on writing. . . .**

Eponine Thenardier was shocked by the blonde leader. Her shoulders were slumped forward, naturally, her brown hair cascading to cover her right eye. She wore hand-me-down clothes, especially jeans with holes on the knee caps. A ratty pair on converse covered her tiny feet. She was ordinary. Typical. Her brown eyes never seemed to sparkle, and her cheeks were sunken in from the lack of food.

But, Enjolras marched up to Montparnasse and slapped him into the next century.

The guide quietly watched from the table, his sleeves pulled down to his hands. Grantaire would poke his arms playfully.

"It's early September, 'Ferre," he would groan,"Why are you wearing long sleeves?"

There are reasons. Too many reasons.

Combeferre kept to himself, locked all of his problems inside of his brain and let them stay there. He didn't need anyone to talk to. He didn't want help. He just needed the blood to flow into the bathroom sink, staining his arms red. The plaid sweaters covered them, concealing them to the human eye.

Jehan had spider-web scars littered over his back, and thin red lines on his chest. He never took off his shirt when he went to swim. Jean Prouvaire didn't even know how to swim.

Grantaire drunk himself to numbness at night, drowning out the world.

"_Pathetic,"_

The three children-no four, including Eponine- knew that word all to well.

"A pathetic B?!" Combeferre's father would yell, slapping him across the face,"You do better than that, or I'll swear to God-"

If only his mother would have been there to stop him. But his mother was dead.

"You pathetic girl!" Madame Thenardier screamed, drawing closer to the adolescent girl.

"Pathetic, just pathetic. You are not my son!" Jehan's father-who is now in prison- yelled, the whip hitting the seven year old boy in the back.

"I'm pathetic,"Grantaire mumbled, downing another shot of vodka.

Pathetic seemed to crawl inside them, drive their insides together, making them want to feel something. They always felt something.

When Combeferre's blood started running down his arm, he felt free. When Grantaire downed the first shot, he felt numb. When Eponine started vomiting, she felt beautiful. When Jehan started holding a lighter against his skin, and raking the knife down his chest, he felt the pain. He felt good.

They didn't know how to stop.

**Okay, rrreeeaaaallllyyyy short chapter, I'm sorry. The next one will be longer, I promise! **


	4. Revealed

**Thanks for the reviews on my last chapter(s)! Means a lot =D. And I'm sorry I haven't updated in a looooooong time, I've been busy. . .but here's a new chapter for y'all! (Sorry that it's soooo short...)**

Combeferre gradually stood up and crossed over to Enjolras, who's face was turning a vibrant red. The Guide gently placed a hand on the Blonde's arm and started tugging him away. Eponine Thenardier sunk back into her chair, her face in her hands.

"That's right, you leave us alone!" Montparnasse called. Enjolras swiveled around, yanking out of Combeferre's grasp.

"Eponine! Come sit with us!" he said, anger lacing his words.

Eponine did nothing short but race over to the Les Amis. Joly pulled an empty chair from another table and shoved it in-between his chair and Courfeyrac's.

"Courf, if you DARE flirt with her-"

"Relax, Blondy, she's all yours,"the Centre laughed, taking another bite of his sandwich. The girl in question blushed and hastily sat down, lacing her hand together on her lap.

"So, darling, what's your name?" Prouvaire asked, his braid tossed over his right shoulder.

"Eponine Thenardier,"she answered, her voice surprisingly calm. Joly reached up a hand and gingerly touched her cheek.

"You should go to the Nurse, 'Ponine," he mumbled,"It's swelling already."

"I'm fine,"she practically spit, jerking away. Joly recoiled.

"Okay, we're not going to pressure you,"Combeferre said, taking his rightful place next to Enjolras. Eponine smiled and nodded, satisfied. Her eyes flickered up and meet the pair of bright blue ones staring at her. The latter blushed, an action that Grantaire didn't not notice.

"The Marble Man is cracking..." he teased, reaching over and smacking him upside the head. Enjolras scowled, his posture straightening.

"I'm not cracking. I'm not marble either," he said.

It all happened in a moment.

Combeferre reached across the table to touch Jehan's braid, laced with lilies-the Guide's favorite flowers-. The sweater he wore to cover the scars exposed the inside skin of his arm. Les Amis noticed-including Eponine- the thin, even red lines placed on the pale skin. Enjolras's mouth cracked open.

"Why?!"

Courfeyrac was on his feet, reaching over and grabbing the sweater.

"Courf, stop! I'm okay!" Combeferre shouted, attempting to tug away. Courfeyrac's hold got stronger.

"Tell me the truth, or I'll see for myself,"he threatened, another hand reaching over to hold the glasses-clad boy on the shoulder.

"I told you, I'm _fine!"_

Courfeyrac yanked the sweater up, his pale right arm, littered with scars.

"Your not fine," he said simply. Tears formed underneath the boys glasses as he picked up his lunch and speed out of the cafeteria, Jehan trailing behind him. Courfeyrac didn't ask any questions, didn't say anything. He just sat back down.

Combeferre didn't sit with them for the next two days.


	5. The Kiss

**Again, the reviews are wonderful! Thank you SO much, they mean a lot! Here's the next chapter for y'all:**

Prouvaire started to worry about his friend. Courfeyrac did not seem to regret his actions, and the Poet was developing a grudge for the Center of the group.

The beautiful boy swallowed another bit of his sandwich, sliding his thumbs out of the holes on his hoodie. Enjolras was talking to Eponine Thenardier, and the latter was laughing, her head tilted back, brown curls swaying. Jehan pulled out his ratty poetry book and began writing. About dark hair and eyes. And gorgeous laughter.

"I'm going to sit with Combeferre," Eponine announced suddenly, jumping to her feet.

"You can't! He's dangerous, 'Ponine. He _cuts,"_ Courfeyrac whispered the last part. Eponine merely rolled her eyes and went to join him in his isolation. The young Poet couldn't help but notice the loving spark in 'Ferre's eyes as the girl sat next to him, grinning. Prouvaire continued writing.

Meanwhile, Enjolras was clenching his fists. He hated Combeferre for accepting Eponine's invitation to sit with him. He hated his right-hand man for making her laugh. He hated him for his charming attitude. His charming spectacles, always falling a little down on his nose. He hated Combeferre for letting her push them up, her pale hand lingering a little too much on his cheek. He hated him. Hated him.

Eponine was enjoying herself, a little too much. She stared at the fellow when he pulled down his sweater. She always thought his sweaters were adorable.

"Why do you do it," she blurted. Eponine covered her mouth, ashamed. You can't just _ask _someone why they cut themselves open. And she knew she wasn't any better, vomiting up her school lunches. Her bulimia wasn't going to stop by itself, and Eponine was doing nothing to stop it on her own.

Combeferre just laughed and sighed.

"I don't know. I just thought it would be nice, you know, to relief myself of the pain. Of being _pathetic,"_ Combeferre spit the last word out, like it was a piece of stale bread. Eponine's next words came out like word vomit, pouring out of her.

"I make myself throw up," she whispered, her hands on her too-skinny stomach. Combeferre stared at her, before enveloping her in a hug.

"I just want to feel pretty. My mother calls me fat, 'Ferre. I don't want to be fat," she said, quietly, tears forming in her eyes.

Combeferre held her on the shoulders, his blue eyes looking into her brown ones.

"Your beautiful, Eponine Thenardier. You don't need to throw up your lunches to do so, because your beautiful. God, your so beautiful. Your mother knows nothing if she calls you fat, because your not. Your skinny, hilarious, sassy and the best girl I know. I care about you, Eponine, so don't hurt me. Please,"

Maybe it was just the adrenaline coursing in her veins, or just instinct, because she pressed her pale lips against Combeferre's, holding him tightly.

Across the room, all of Les Amis were in shock.

And Enjolras was already storming over.


	6. Lies

Enjolras tore Combeferre off of Eponine and promptly slapped him across the face.

"ENJOLRAS!" Eponine shrieked, rushing forward. Combeferre was breathing heavily, a hand clutching his cheek. Jehan Prouvaire ran through the crowd.

"That was a rather brash action, Enjolras. You apologize. Now," he seethed, his fists clenched.

"No. I will not apologize. Why should I?! HE is the one who cuts himself. HE choose to abandon us, then kiss Eponine! HE choose to be alone. WHY should I apologize?! I WILL NOT!"

Tears were streaming down Combeferre's cheeks. His arm was starting to sting. He didn't cut himself yesterday, his last scars were three days old. Why were they hurting?!

"Don't you even THINK that there's a REASON he cuts?! That he choose pain?! You don't know ANYTHING about US-" Prouvaire started.

"Us?" Courfeyrac questioned, crossing his arms. Prouvaire froze, then regained his composure.

"Surely you think we are ALL monsters now, don't you Courf? People who cut are _dangerous _because they have/had horrible lives and needed a relief? You think people who burn-"

"Your _burning _youself, Jehan? Why?" Courfeyrac's tone was quiet now. His tan hand was reaching out, only to be slapped away.

"Leave Jehan alone,"Eponine growled,"You have no right to assume things about us. You have no right to be talking to us. Leave us ALONE!"

Enjolras grabbed Courfeyrac's arm and dragged him back to the Les Amis table. Combeferre turned to Jehan and smiled.

"Welcome to the family," he managed to choke out. His cheek was swelling like Eponine's had been a few days ago. His spectacles were slightly off on his nose, his sweater bunched up around his elbows. He didn't have to hide it anymore. Everyone knew.

Courfeyrac wasn't the best person to keep secrets, anyways.

Almost half the school knew, and Combeferre was sure that more was to know. Courfeyrac would probably tell people about Jehan and Eponine too, and they will half to endure what he did the past few days.

People yanking up his sleeves.

People calling him weak.

_Pathetic_

Combeferre swallowed, a lump going down his throat. He is NOT pathetic. No one has the right to call him so. Not even his father.

He is NOT Combeferre's father

Eponine was looking around nevvously, a hand place protectively over her stomach. Jehan was shifting from foot to foot, braid swinging aimlessly on his back. Combeferre and Courfeyrac noticed people pointing and laughing at it. Only Combeferre glared at them. Courfeyrac looked shamefully down at his lunch, red lips shut.

Jehan started doubting whether his 'feelings' for Courfeyrac were real. Courfeyrac seemed to not care about him at all. Not at all.

Courfeyrac sighed, placing his hands in his head. Across the cafeteria, Jehan and friends were talking in a hushed whisper. Probably about him and the rest of the Amis. He couldn't believe what he heard. Combeferre cut himself? Eponine has issues? Jehan _burns _himself?! Why couldn't he tell?! And why was he so hostile to them?

Because he was angry, that's why. He was angry at Combeferre- his best friend since _second grade _for not telling him what was going on. Didn't 'Ferre trust Courf? Sure, he could tell a couple more people than necessary, but it was all in his best intentions! He didn't _mean _for the whole school to know. Courfeyrac didn't think that the people he told would tell other people.

Boy, was he wrong.

Stephanie told Jamie, who told Cosette, who told Montparnasse, who told Tholomyes, who told Brandon, who told Pierson, who told almost half of the freaking _school. _

Gossip spreads like wild fire, and it the stories get bigger and bigger as it spreads.

Apparently, Combeferre was 'so angry at Enjolras he needed revenge' and kissed Eponine. Eponine threw away her feeling for Enjolras- the poor victim in this situation- and kissed back. Jehan burns himself because he's high and on whatever they make up. It's all stupid lies that people make up because they feel sorry for themselves, and Combeferre tells them to not let it bother them.

But it keeps on getting worse and worse and worse.

...and one day Grantaire comes clean.


End file.
